


The silver dress

by osheffields



Category: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: F/M, Pre-Benophie meeting, fairy godmother Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29703756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osheffields/pseuds/osheffields
Summary: The lady in silver didn't just show up at the ball on her own. Where would Cinderella be without her fairy godmother?
Relationships: Benedict Bridgerton/Genevieve Delacroix, Sophie Beckett/Benedict Bridgerton
Comments: 1
Kudos: 44





	The silver dress

**Author's Note:**

> Was talking about this on twitter and couldn't get it out of my head. I love the idea of Gen helping Sophie in the series. Obviously this ignores the book canon and is more in line with show canon since Genevieve exists at all. It was hastily (and eagerly) written just today so mind any errors.

Genevieve Delacroix, if that was in fact her real name, had much to do. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to lay around in bed with a man like Benedict Bridgerton, oh no, she could find plenty of ways to entertain herself with the infamous _second son_ in her bed. She deserved it, in fact, after the weeks she toiled away making ridiculous costumes for every member of the _ton_ to attend the Bridgerton Masquerade. She’d been delighted to see Benedict most unexpectedly at her doorstep, making quick work of sweeping her up the stairs to her room. Now, however, she had an appointment to keep. 

“You must leave now, Monsieur Bridgerton,” she says to him, as she’s finishing redressing. Benedict liked to lounge, she’d noticed. He wasn’t like the other men who quickly redressed and ran like bats out of hell to go back to their wives or their wealthy families; leaving women like her to feel like cast-aside, shameful secrets. Benedict’s own brother had treated her dear friend Siena like that for a long time, in fact. But Benedict Bridgerton was different. He was a romantic. He liked to linger and play and caress and hold, long after the actual sex was over. It was sweet, Genevieve thought. 

What they were having was just a bit of fun, they both knew that, but she hoped he would one day find a woman to have all of the tooth-rooting sweet things he clearly longed for. He was a nice man and he deserved it. Not too soon, she thought with a smile. She wasn’t quite through with him yet. 

“Are you throwing me out?” He asks, heaving himself up from the bed to pull his clothes back on. 

“I have another appointment.”

“With another man?” he asks with good humor. 

“A lady,” she informs him. 

“In that case, I rather think I must stay,” he gives her one of his disarming crooked grins and she laughs. 

“Not for what you are thinking. She’s here on business,” she tells him and he feigns disappointment. She starts herding him out of her room and down through the dress shop, the mademoiselle would be here any minute. “And you should start readying yourself for your mother’s ball.”

“I’d much rather stay here with you or go to a party. I’m tired of all the social occasions my mother forces on me.” 

“But all the ladies of the _ton_ are so eager for you to be there. Now that Monsieur Anthony is married, _you_ are the season’s catch.”

He laughs. “Is that so?”

“Oh, they talk of nothing else.”

“That makes me want to go even less now.” 

She tuts and all but pushes him out of her shop’s front door. 

“Go. Have a good time and dance with the prettiest girl there.” 

He smiles and pulls her in for a kiss before leaving. Genevieve watches him disappear down the street and then she turns her head. From the opposite end of the street, she sees a familiar figure approaching. 

“Mademoiselle Sophie!” She calls out into the quiet evening “ _Vite, vite_!” 

When the young woman enters her shop, she’s out of breath. Genevieve closes the door firmly behind her and locks it. 

“Please tell me there isn’t something wrong with Araminta or the girl’s gowns,” Sophie pants, panicked. “They’ve already left to the ball.”

“I know they have,” she says smiling slyly, her fake accent dropping. “It’s why I called you.” She had a messenger waiting outside the Penwood House, ready to deliver a message to the young maid the minute her odious master and her daughters left. 

“I don’t understand.”

“Come, we must hurry if you are to make it in time.” Genevieve starts to lead her towards the back of her shop, where the dressing room was. Sophie is at her heels, looking confused.

“Make it in time where?”

“To the ball, of course.”

Genevieve didn’t think she needed any excuse or explanation to be kind to young Miss Sophie Beckett. She was a sweet and hardworking girl who had spent far too much time at her shop picking up gowns and then returning them for absurd and minuscule alterations at the behest of the former Lady Penwood. They’d gotten to know each other over the years. So much so that Sophie had discovered her secret with relative ease and had kept it this entire time. She wasn’t surprised; Sophie’s own french was better than hers! Which is how she’d come to know Sophie’s secret. The little maid wasn’t a maid at all. She’d had the upbringing of a lady. 

Sophie had never told her, but servants talked and rumors flew. Genevieve had never asked for the details but she _knew._ Sophie had once been an earl’s ward or (most likely, she suspected) an earl’s daughter and that explained a lot both about Sophie herself and about her treatment at Penwood House. 

Genevieve had to admit she was personally getting great pleasure out of defying Araminta. The woman was a terrible person who just two days before had come into her shop, insulted her and still demanded she work overtime to meet her insane demands during her busiest season. If Genevieve could afford to turn away the business she would never dress her again. Alas, she couldn’t afford to do that, as it stood. So she’d have get to get her revenge in a different way. Sending Sophie Beckett, the most likely bastard daughter of her late husband to a ball with the most stunning dress she’d made, was as good a plan as she could manage. Maybe Araminta would see her and have a fit and fall dead right where she stood. Maybe Sophie would catch the eye of a prince or a duke and marry far above Araminta’s station. It was only a shame Genevieve herself couldn’t be there to see it. But she’d look forward to Lady Whistledown’s account on the event. 

“I can’t wear this!” Sophie gapes at the gown when Genevieve brings it out. It’s silver and gem encrusted and it glitters in the candlelight of the shop. 

“Why not?” She glances down at it. Was something wrong with it? She thought it was her best work.

“It’s...too fine! It must cost a fortune!” 

“It does indeed. It was a request from a very wealthy lady in France, but why not borrow it before I deliver it?” 

Sophie looks at it with wide eyes and reaches out slowly to touch the soft, delicate fabric. Then she looks back at Genevieve.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because you deserve a night out after putting up with Araminta for so many years.” 

“You put up with her too.”

“But I get _paid,_ ” She replies, knowingly. Sophie sighs and looks back towards the dress, unsure. 

“I need a mask. It’s a masquerade.”

Genevieve reaches for the mask sitting nearby, that matches the dress perfectly and Sophie’s eyes almost fill with tears.

She was going to a ball, she thinks sometime later. She can hardly believe it. She, Sophia Maria Beckett, was going to a ball. In the finest dress she had ever seen in her entire life. Genevieve had helped her into the gown and helped dress her hair and now that she stood in front of the mirror she could hardly recognize herself. 

“I’m leaving for France first thing in the morning. I need the dress tonight. You must leave at midnight so you have time to bring it back and get home before Araminta.” 

Sophie nods, adjusting the ties on the mask. It wasn’t even nine yet. She had more than enough time to pretend her life wasn’t her own. For just a few hours tonight, she could dream. 

“I’m very nervous,” she admits. 

“Don’t be. Have fun. Dance. Meet a handsome man.” Genevieve nudges her playfully.

Sophie bursts out into a giggle, her life had been so full of nothing but work and chores and loneliness, she’d had little time to give men much thought. But tonight, she supposes, she could. The girl in the silver dress could look for a suitor. The girl in the silver dress could be courted, she could be called upon and sent flowers. The girl in the silver dress could fall in love. The spell would break when the clock struck midnight, but she could enjoy it while it lasted. What, after all, could be the harm in that? 


End file.
